


For a Bit of Love

by Neferit



Series: Unexpected Journeys to Hobbit Kink Meme [21]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Community: hobbit_kink, F/M, Fluff, Genderswap, Hobbit Kink Meme, Kink Meme, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neferit/pseuds/Neferit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur suffers from his cheerful personality - because everybody thinks he's a fun tumble, but nobody considers that he'd be good for a long term relationship, too.</p><p>At least, until he meets Bell Baggins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Bit of Love

**Author's Note:**

> So there was this prompt at hobbit kink meme over at LiveJournal that said:
> 
>  
> 
> _Bofur suffers from his cheerful personality - because everybody thinks he's a fun tumble, but nobody considers that he'd be good for a long term relationship, too. And if he suggests it, people are like, "Oh, Bofur, don't be ridiculous. We have a perfectly nice thing going, no need to complicate it."_
> 
>  
> 
> And I like my Bofur – I can’t help but… the more I think about it, the more I can believe that he would be in the forever friend zoned category. And I aim to help him with that.
> 
> Also, the title is inspired by a poem by my favourite Czech poet, Jaroslav Vrchlický – _Za trochu lásky šel bych světa kraj_. The translation had been taken from the comments to this entry at LiveJournal community _linguaphiles_.
> 
> You can see the various translations made by the users of linguaphiles here: [For a Bit of Love](http://adf.ly/9586051/za-trochu-lasky)

 

_For a bit of love, I would go to the end of the world,_

_I would go bareheaded and I would go barefoot,_

_I would go through the ice - but with eternal May in my soul,_

_I would go through the storm - but would hear blackbirds singing,_

_I would go into the wilderness – and would have pearls of dew in the heart_

_For a bit of love, I would go to the end of the world,_

_as one who sings, begging at the door._

_-_ Jaroslav Vrchlický _, Za trochu lásky šel bych světa kraj_

**-o.O.o-**

Bofur liked being himself – the easy-going, cheerful and always look on the bright side of life kind of a dwarf. Sure, it would be easy to be dark and scowling like, for example, King Thorin in all his majestic broodiness, but that just wouldn’t be himself, Bofur of clan Broadbeam, brother of Bombur, cousin of Bifur.

But sometimes, he would like to do nothing else but toss his cheer and good spirits to somewhere dark and inaccessible.

Sometimes, he would like to be taken seriously, instead of someone who fulfilled the role of a “starter”, only to be passed for someone, who wasn’t so cheerful, but was serious and, _unlike him_ , dependable.

He was serious, and most of all, he was dependable. How else would he be able to take care of his cousin Bifur, when he was wounded, or of his younger brother, until he was old enough to find himself a trade he was good at, until he found his Risa and married her?

Nobody seemed to see that side of him; to everyone but his closest family, he always had been just Bofur, the easy lay, the good cheer, who never made any promises and never asked for any in return.

And if he ever dared to do that, it was laughed in his face, together with “good joke, Bofur!”, no matter how serious he was about the question.

He was just _so bloody tired_ of never having someone to depend on, never having someone to hold close even when the times were not all that cheerful, when he would feel down, and then this someone would pick him up and helped him to feel better again.

Yet, it seemed that he would never find this person in the Ered Luin, so when King Thorin announced start of the Quest for Erebor, to retake the Mountain from the dragon, he was among the first to join, together with his brother and cousin, who refused to let him go without them.

And there, in the nearly completely unknown land of greenery and rolling hills, he found _her_ , and in the course of the evening he managed to fluster her, anger her and embarrass her, when he made her faint in front of everyone present.

At least he managed to be quick enough to catch her before she hit the ground.

Bell Baggins, daughter of Bungo and Belladonna, was everything he ever dreamed of, when it came to day dreaming about possible future spouse. She was beautiful, even if the Hobbit lack of facial hair made him feel a bit strange about his attraction in the beginning, and she was the most caring and gentlest of souls. She was unused to travelling by riding on pony, and suffered through every day of their travel, biting her lips till her teeth drew blood the first few days, before her muscles got used to it.

She also could spin a tale with talent that surpassed even his, and he was quite a story teller himself.

He couldn’t help but feel protective about her; differently than he would feel protective towards Bombur or Bifur, or about anyone else in the Company. He felt as if he would gnaw his own right hand off, if it would save her, and when he saw the trolls grabbing her, and threatening to tear her apart, he was throwing his weapon down even before the King himself gave the order to do so. Sure, he could live without having to hear that he was supposed to have parasites, but as long as it helped him to keep breathing, he would gladly have parasites of the size of a leg.

For some reason, he had been rather put off by apparent joy in Bell’s face when she looked around herself and seemed to be completely enchanted by the elven city of Rivendell, and the elves living in there. He, on the other hand, would go out of his way, and together with others tried to make life as difficult as he could for the elves, during their stay there.

Only the disappointment in Bell’s eyes at some of their antics made him stop from doing something even worse, especially since she turned on her heel after witnessing some of the ‘dwarven specials’ and left with one of the elves, Lindir, obviously apologizing for the behaviour of her companions.

He didn’t want her to feel ashamed of something he did, so he did something what probably no other dwarf had ever done – he went to Lord Elrond himself and apologized for the previous disrespect he showed towards his elven hosts, earning himself a surprised look from the serene elf, as well as a bright smile from the hobbit lass later.

They took their leave from Rivendell abruptly, and Bell, who enjoyed their stay tremendously, took one last look at the elven settlement before they lost sight of it; Thorin immediately used that as a reason to tear into her once again.

Bofur tried to make her feel a bit better with some of his jokes, but his jokes all fell flat that day, the woman sad and quiet, the whole situation not improving one bit when they crossed into the Misty Mountains and got themselves right in the middle of a fight between several Stone Giants.

Bell nearly fell of the cliff, and for a moment, Bofur felt his heart stop, when he couldn’t reach her and her grip on the slick stone slowly but surely slipped.

He tried to stop her from leaving that night, her expression sure and set, and when she told him he can’t possibly know what it is to be so down, with his cheerful stance, he felt his smile slip exactly in the moment Bell started to apologize for saying something so –

They never finished that talk. Instead, Bell’s sword started to radiate light blue light and the ground fell down under their feet, taking them with it into the depths of the mountains.

The goblins rushed them forward, pushing and tugging, and Bofur lost sight of Bell within seconds after they landed. Only when they stopped in their crazy escape and Gandalf started to count them he realized his hobbit (yes, _his_ , even if he never told her that) was not with them, and the last time anyone saw her was right after the goblins seized them.

Thorin started on how she probably slunk her way back to her beloved elves by now, when her voice, tired but at the same time, miffed, interrupted him, and Bell appeared from behind the rock, _alive_ , even if her clothing was torn at places, and her fingers were bleeding and she looked as if she saw a ghost and…

They were running again, and this time, Bofur did his best to keep next to her, helping her up when she slipped, holding her hand as tightly as he could without hurting those gentle fingers any further. Only once they were separated for an eye blink and a warg was after her immediately.

He would never forget the shocked look in her eyes, when the warg stopped just centimetres from her face, dying on her sword, and the sight when she stood alone above unconscious Thorin; alone against the wargs, with only her short sword between her and them, swung clumsily at her enemies.

The eagles saved them that night, carrying them for what seemed like hours but while everyone rushed to Thorin’s side when they were settled down again, he went to check on Bell. She looked up when he approached, giving him a small nod. With all the rush about Thorin, nobody had looked at her hands, and just looking at them gave Bofur a painful twinge.

Those were gentle and caring hands. They shouldn’t be covered by blood, partially hers and partially of some orcs and wargs.

Thorin made his grand awakening then, and one of the first things he asked about was Bell. When he started his insults, Bofur had to be held back by suddenly appearing Bifur, before he could sucker-punch his king for speaking like that to his Bell.

And then the king hugged her, and Bofur felt his heart fall, when he saw the blissful smile on Bell’s face.

Still, it had been _his_ company that Bell sought once it was decided they will spend the upcoming night at the bottom of the Carrock, and it was by his side, where Oin finally took a look at her hands, cleaning the wounds to the best of his ability, given their limited supplies and wrapping them with strips torn out of one of Bofur’s extra shirts.

Only the night had been spent with her by Gandalf side, sleeping with her head in the wizard’s lap.

The wizard told them that a friend of his lived nearby, and they spent the better part of the following two days by getting to his house. Of course, the wizard wasn’t quite speaking the truth, as showed when he told them to follow up after him in pairs, while he and Bell enter first.

This friend, Beorn, obviously had a fondness for cute hobbits, and seeing Bell softened him enough to allow them to stay long enough to recuperate enough for further journey. Bell spent lots of time in Beorn’s garden, enjoying the feel of well-taken care of greenery beneath her feet, and the satisfaction that came from pulling out the weeds and seeing the patches clean.

He came to join her most days, and after helping her with gardening, they would sit on one of the benches, share a pipe and talk.

“I never apologized for what I said,” she told him one day, after blowing a smoke circle, before handing the pipe to him, her hands lingering as he reached to take it from her.

He didn’t pretend not knowing what she meant - it would be useless endeavour under the intent gaze of her eyes. Still, he said nothing, allowing her to gather her thoughts. The silence stretched between them, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable, just thoughtful.

“I know you are serious, you know,” she broke the silence, turning to face him, her eyes serious, even if her lips held a small smile. “It shows when Bifur struggles because of his injury, or when Bombur misses his family, or…” She bit her lip, lowering her eyes to the ground.

This time, Bofur offered her a soft “or?”

“Or when you look at me,” Bell finished in equally soft voice, bringing her eyes up to look at him properly again.

Now, the silence was stretching uncomfortably - Bofur not quite knowing what to say, and Bell internally kicking herself for probably speaking out of turn and making things awkward.

“ _Especially_ when I look at you.”

It was Bofur who broke the awkward silence, looking at Bell directly, handing her the pipe again; this time it were his hands that lingered.

Bell looked breathless for a moment, breaking the eye contact for a heartbeat, before her eyes, deep and expressive, looked into his again. “I…” she stuttered on her words, fumbling for the best way how to speak her mind. “I know that dwarven ways aren’t hobbit ways, Bofur, but… but it would be a great honour, if you consented to allow me to cook for you.”

From what he remembered about hobbits, food, its preparation and its sharing in general was very important to them. Especially if it had been one person preparing some food for another person.

Was she… was she trying to court him?

“You have cooked for the company in the past,” he reminded her, noticing how her eyes dimmed minutely, before she realized he wasn’t saying a no to her.

“That is true,” she nodded her agreement. “But that was for everyone. This time, I would like to cook only for you.. and me,” she finished shyly, lowering her eyes as blush coloured her cheeks.

The meal they shared that evening had been simple (too simple, Bell fussed, despite Bofur’s assurances how the meal was mighty fine as it was and that it was her company that was the real treat), but the evening had been far from finished. Bofur played her a song on his flute, the instrument somehow surviving their fall into Goblin city, and Bell kissed him on the cheek in thanks, falling asleep with her head on his shoulder while they sat on a bench outside Beorn’s house, stargazing before they would go to sleep.

Bofur just smiled at the sleeping lass when he carried her to her bedroll, feeling warm inside as he went to his own beddings.

The feeling of warmth stayed close to his heart, even in the darkness of Mirkwood and the coldness of elven dungeons. He would be the first one to follow her escape plan, and it would be him who looked for first when they finally landed on dry land again, and got out of the barrels used for their escape.

He would be the one to take care of her when she was ill, only rarely leaving her side for the shortest moments of time before he joined her again, spinning tales for her, or just quietly playing his flute (that once again managed to escape, undamaged in his pocket), lulling her to much needed sleep.

The thought of having to let her go into the dragon’s den all alone was making his heart twitch painfully in his chest, especially since he was fully aware of not being able to help her, should something go wrong.

And wrong it did go, and more than any of them thought possible.

There had been lots of running and attempting to trick the dragon, only to have the beast rage at its inability to catch them, deciding to destroy the Laketown instead, for daring to help the dwarves.

What came next had been a blur, dispelled only when Bell was at his side, taking him away from the gold for at least few short moments every so often, forcing him to focus on something else than on the yellow metal and rare gems.

It was an abrupt wake up call, when the Arkenstone all of them had been searching for so long appeared in hands of Bard, who offered it as a bargaining tool. A bargaining tool given to him by Bell Baggins, their resident burglar.

Thorin wanted to kill her on spot for what he viewed as betrayal, only Gandalf’s call stopping him from throwing her down on the rocks.

Her eyes, full of tears, were looking into his, and he knew what must be done.

He had been branded traitor as well, forced out of the kingdom he helped to reclaim, his mind once again clear and his heart once again hurting when he remembered how little attention he paid to his hobbit lass during the last days.

The battle that took place under the Lonely Mountain afterwards, later called Battle of Five Armies was forever branded in his memory as the worst thing he ever took part in. No cave in, no matter how bad, came even close to that. Dwarves, Elves, Men, Beorn, the Eagles and one lonely hobbit, battling orcs and goblins who marched there, each of them fighting for their lives, the desperation giving them strength.

Bofur quickly lost any idea where Bell was, as she was wearing her ring, only occasional scream or injuries appearing out from nowhere on the orcs that attacked someone from the company giving a clue where exactly she is.

He didn’t even want to think on how the last time he heard her voice had been when the Eagles arrived on the battlefield.

The long hours he searched for her when the battle was ended were the longest in his whole life. His throat was sore after all the time he called her name, the desperation increasing when she wouldn’t respond.

When he finally heard her voice, weak and muddled, responding his call, his heart jumped in his chest before it started beating again.

She took of her ring, as he came closer to where her voice sounded from. Once again her clothing was torn, her hair hung limply around her face. There was blood in her hair, where she got hit by a flying stone that knocked her unconscious, and she was covered in in filth; yet she was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen at that moment, because she was alive.

Once again, he wouldn’t leave her side, not even when his own wounds needed checking, and together they fussed over each other in the tents set up by the elves, much to the amusement of the elven healers.

That was until a dwarven messenger came to the elven camp, requesting Bofur’s and Bell’s presence in the tent of the King under the Mountain; the King himself injured and thus unable to move much on his own.

Their banishment from Erebor had been lifted, but Bofur had no intention of living in it’s stone halls and he told the King so, surprising both him and Bell.

“You would leave the home you help to reclaim?” Thorin asked, looking between the two of them. Bofur nodded. “Aye,” he said. “If Bell would have me, for a bit of her love I’d go to the very end of the world itself.”

“She would,” Bell whispered, looking up to him, her lips forming a radiant smile.

And so it was decided. Bell and Bofur departed for the Shire as soon as Thorin Oakenshield had been crowned the new King under the Mountain, and celebrated their wedding in the Bag End they had to reclaim from her cousins, Sackville-Bagginses, who decided to pronounce her dead and sell most of her possessions.

Nobody had been as serious as Bofur, when he calmly told them they will hand Bell’s possessions back or else, or when he said “aye, I do” when asked whether he takes Bell as his wife.

They would laugh, they would be serious, Bofur thought as he twirled his new wife in a lively hobbit dance.

But most of all, they would be together.


End file.
